Little Flower, Lost
by Rosetta Penn
Summary: The likeness is remarkable...but the eyes, the eyes are all wrong. Wouldn't you agree, Severus?" In mourning the loss of his one true love a certain student catches his eye. As close as one can get to Snape/Ginny and still be *almost* cannon. oneshot.


**Little Flower, Lost**

_A Harry Potter fanfiction by_

_Rosetta Penn_

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He remembered, of course, the first time he saw her. Miss Ginevra Weasley- "GRYFFINDOR!" the sorting hat had roared.

Well, of course it had. She was a Weasley after all. All one had to do was catch sight of her speckled cheeks and brush of red hair. Funny then wasn't it, how "Weasley" was not the first thing that came to mind.

His eyes drooped down to his wine goblet, the bitter aroma rose up to tease gently beneath his nostrils, when he looked up Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling curiously in his direction.

He sneered, and tore his knife through the roasted bird on his plate.

---

Miss Ginevra Weasley had gotten herself in quite the predicament; she had found herself in a most dire straight of trouble. He seriously doubted the youngest Weasley would be able to get out of the disaster she had brought down around herself. The girl was in grave danger. If she didn't watch her step, she was going to fail his class.

"Miss Weasley, " he scorned, coming to a slow stop in front of her desk. "Perhaps you could illuminate me as to why your cauldron is empty, despite the fact that we are now forty five minutes into the practical lesson?"

A low hiss forced it's way between his teeth when she lifted her head out of her arms. Her eyes were wet and puffy. They were scattered, and bloodshot red. Her bottom lip trembled slightly.

"I am sorry, Professor, " she squeaked meekly. "I'll start in right awa-"

"Get out." He heard the echo of his voice reflected back to him as if passing through a distant mirror.

The pale red haired girl starred up horrified. With a frown he sensed the other thirty some odd pairs of eyes in the room beginning to settle in on the two of them. His expression tightened.

"For the inexperienced wizard the brewing of this potion requires a great deal of concentration, since you are obviously in an unfit state to retain any such focus I would ask you to remove yourself from my classroom." Her gaze remained locked on his. "Now, Miss Weasley!"

She made a small humiliated whimper and jumped out of her seat, hurrying to collect her belongings. Her soft footsteps shuffled quickly to the back of the classroom, and the door banged shut behind her.

"Bloody git," cursed a first year boy beneath his breath as the dark wizard passed down the aisle.

"Five points from Gryffindor," snapped Snape, "and that's detention, Mister Creevey!"

---

"Distressed?" Asked the ancient wizard, his eyes questioning behind his half moon spectacles.

"Yes," replied Snape.

"And you gather dark forces to be the cause of this…distress, as you put it?"

The tall wizard rolled his eyes lazily, as if already bored with the subject. "I have seen no reason to form such sinister a conjecture."

"Exactly what have you seen, Severus?"

"Excessive tardiness, poor attention, lack of ambition, unsatisfactory work, she continuously insists upon coming to my lessons unprepared. The only book I've ever seen her with is some tattered old leather bound journal. And the other day I believe she may have been- " he hesitated, "It appeared she might have been- weeping. Crying, in the middle of class."

Dumbledore sighed, "You are not the first to come to me. I have heard similar reports from the girl's other professors. I must admit, it causes me considerable pain to hear of a child in such a grievous state." Snape scoffed, but Dumbledore continued as if he had not heard. "I have always intended Hogwarts to be a place of comfort and joy for our students here. Of course, of late, I seem to have failed most appallingly in that venture. With the recent attacks, and the threat of the Chamber reopening-"

"You cannot seriously expect me to understand that you hold yourself personally responsible for those unfortunate occurrences."

"Can't I?" the elder wizard's eyes shown under great sadness. He looked tired, old. "I fear the day is rapidly approaching when Hogwarts will no longer be able to ensure the safety of any of its inhabitants."

"It will never pass," said Snape with certain firmness.

"I pray you are right, my good friend. For when that day comes, we shall all of us be at the mercy of a most merciless darkness." Dumbledore sank slowly into the great wooden chair behind his desk. The potions master started toward the door.

"There is remarkable likeness, isn't there?" called the headmaster behind him. "But the eyes, the eyes are all wrong. Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"

His hand tightened on the doorknob, a single breath hitched up in his chest. He did not turn around. "I am sure I haven't the slightest idea what you are referring to, Sir."

"No?" questioned Dumbledore.

"No!" he rasped. Snape sucked in a deep breath, quelling the fire sticking in the base of his throat. He pressed his eyelids shut and tightened his jaw, feeling the ache travel all the way around to the back of his skull. The hot air escaped his lungs in a rush. "Her eyes were green." He whispered. "They were…alive."

"Keep an on the girl."

Snape vanished out the door in a rush of black robes.

---

"Seed of devil's apple is, as I should hope you are all aware by this point, one of the most dreadfully simple ingredients to obtain," drawled Snape, looking down into the textbook before him. A thin piece of chalk scrawled effortlessly on the black board behind him. "Known to the undeveloped mind as your garden variety _tomato_, Devil's Apple can be grown in virtually every habitable environment. So long as it receives the proper balance of sunlight and water the plant should do fine. However, I would be quite astounded if you managed to find one _growing in the back of Miss Weasley's throat, Mister Corner!"_

There was faint popping noise and a boyishly proud looking Michael Corner pried his lips apart from a blushing Ginny Weasley, who giggled and stared fixedly down at the floor, but did nothing to remove herself from his grasp. Snape curled his lip in open disgust.

"Miss Weasley kindly disengage yourself from Mr. Corner, you've just cost Gryffindor House fifteen points. And I'll see you in detention Mr. Corner!" he slammed the textbook close with enough force to send a tornado of dust whirling away from the pulpit.

The broad grin plastered across the fourth years face dropped like a lead foot, "Aw come on!" he protested.

"Another five points!"

"But-"

"Ten points Mister Corner, do try to restrain yourself!" Michael was about to object a third time, but a sharp kick from Ginny and he settled for a scowl. The motion did not go unnoticed by her Professor.

"Miss Weasley!" he shouted, "I thought I had made it clear that while you are in my classroom it is my express wish that you keep all of your appendages to yourself! Another fifteen points from Gryffindor!"

To the horror of a now petrified looking Michael Corner, Ginny rose furiously from her seat. "That's ridiculous!" she yelled.

Michael's head dropped onto his desk with a thud.

Snape stared in shock. Ginevra Weasley had matured considerably since her first year at Hogwarts. The woman child now glaring daggers at him from across the room was a far cry from the pathetic little girl he'd found sniveling in his classroom four years ago.

"Take. Your. Seat." He hissed in outrage.

Ginny's lips tightened to a defiant pout, anger still burning across her face. "What for?"

"GET OUT!!!" With a flick of his wand a deafening bang exploded in the back of the classroom and Ginny's books flew out the now open dungeon door. He whipped around back toward the blackboard, still seething as her footsteps echoed angrily down the hall.

There was not a sound the remainder of the period. Not even the careless scratch of a quill against a sheet of parchment.

---

Severus Snape weaved speedily through the many crowded halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon in early March, and despite the lateness of the date, a mysteriously pristine blanket of snow still glistened across grounds. A phenomenon that would have caused much excitement in late November, the student body had long become weary of their festive scarves and mittens, longing instead for the twittering of birds, budding of flowers, and perhaps even the occasional scattered sprinkle accompanying the fresh breeze bringing forth the bright promise of spring. Because of this unsatisfied desire, the sight alone of the flurried precipitation was enough to provoke a dismal feeling of melancholy.

This allotted for the rare occurrence in which the sparkling sheet of snow was allowed to remain peacefully untouched in a display that would no doubt appear beautiful to the disengaged onlooker, but went unnoticed by the many students who shunned the frigid winter air, choosing instead to crowd into the welcoming warmth of the castle walls. An unsettling number of which, to Professor Snape's complete horror, seemed to have gotten it into their heads that they themselves could cause the subzero temperatures outside to rise, if only they could get their tongues to rub together with enough friction.

However, Snape was blessedly relieved to discover the hormonal mosh thinned considerably the deeper he traveled into the castle bowels. In fact, he had just believed himself to be in the clear, when descending down the last lonely pathway he heard the unmistakable of sound of two mewling adolescents, undoubtedly pawing each other lecherously in the forgotten side corridor at the end of the hall.

Incensed that this behavior was occurring within such close proximity to his office, and outraged that the offenders were most likely to be of his own house, Snape, at his wits end, closed in on the unsuspecting couple with the full intention of launching into a tirade that would wobble the very foundations of the tower. All while simultaneously realizing that there was a very good chance he would loose his lunch should he catch Malfoy accosting yet another wide eyed fourth year twit, too stupid to know any better.

With these suspicions, it was no surprise that upon peeping his large nose around the corner wall, he was struck by sudden loss of sanity to see Ginny Weasley in the corridor windowsill, her infamous red hair tumbling long and loose between her shoulders. Beneath her, a dark haired boy whose face was obscured by the back of her head. Snape had only one foot in foot in the corridor when the boy reached up to gather Ginny's hair and pull her head to the side. Though the boy's eyes were closed, the top of his forehead was visible; across the center was the faint outline of a lightning bolt scar.

For the second time Snape was struck momentarily senseless. He had expected Dean Thomas, the fop he'd occasionally had the misfortune of seeing her hanging over in the halls. Or Michael Corner even, it would have come as no surprise to see her return to that dolt. But Potter?

His heart roared behind it's narrow ribbed cage.

How many times had he wished to see those eyes mixed with that hair, together and whole. But this? He could hardly believe this was happening in front of him. Of all people it had to be _his_ hands…_Potter's_ bloody hands…on his…his…student.

She was his student, his pupil. The same as Potter.

He left them in the corridor.

---

"Draco will confide nothing in me. I have offered my assistance, my advice, pressed him as far as I dare, but the boy does not trust me." Snape paced rapidly across the office.

"Patience, Severus," said the Headmaster calmly from behind his desk. His eyes were trailing down a long scroll of parchment. "The immensity of this task is taking a severe toll upon the boy, he will come to you soon enough."

"No," Snape persisted. "It is his Aunt, she has poisoned his mind against me. There is but a month until the end of term, you must begin to consider further precautions in securing the school against the Dark Lord should Draco succeed."

"I have you," Dumbledore replied confidently.

"It is not enough!" insisted Snape.

"Perhaps…" mused Dumbledore, continuing to study the parchment scroll, "I notice Miss Weasley will be among those in your N.E.W.T. level class next year."

"What?" sputtered Snape, coming to an abrupt halt.

"As you know the student's O.W.L. results came last week. They will not be sent out until the Summer, of course."

"Your meaning?" asked Snape icily, the hint of a threat creeping up behind the question.

"Ginevra Weasley received an Exceeds Expectations in her Defense Against the Dark Arts exam," responded Dumbledore simply.

"And is an E mark not sufficient for entry into a N.E.W.T. level class?" he questioned. His fists clenched into two shaking fists, the color drained from his knuckles.

"Oh, yes" said the Headmaster, pinching his fingers down his long white beard. "I have many times expressed to you my opinion that an E was a perfectly sufficient mark to gain entrance into a N.E.W.T. level class." the old wizard paused. "However you and I have never quite seen eye to eye on that matter, Severus. It has always been my understanding that you only accept N.E.W.T. students who have achieved no less then an Outstanding."

Snape walked slowly to the back of the room. Spreading both his hands over the top of the desk, he glowered down at the other man. "Forgive me, Headmaster" his voice snaked out between his teeth, "but I hardly find this the appropriate occasion to discuss our differing academic philosophies."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the silent signs of warning radiating from the unstable wizard. "So they do still differ? You have not relaxed in your academic standards?"

"What does it matter?" demanded Snape, his voice rising. Dumbledore's eyebrow hiked further up to where it blended seamlessly into his elegantly receding hairline. Snape snarled and pushed violently away from the headmaster's desk. "You yourself specifically requested that I keep a close watch over her, I am only acting upon your orders!"

Dumbledore brought his fingertips together in front of him, his weathered face wrinkled in a terrible grimace as he folded the long fingers of his blackened decaying hand amongst those of the whole. "That was a long time ago, Severus, years. The circumstance was very different."

Snape lifted his arms out before himself in exasperation. "You want her out of my class? It is done!" he shouted wrathfully. "I am able to tolerate her presence only slightly more then Potter's! She is an annoyance, nothing more then a marginally talented, insubordinate, insipid, child!"

"I will not be so bold as to infringe upon the right I have always granted the professors here at Hogwarts, to devise of their own accord a method for which to admit students into their respective classes" insisted Dumbledore sternly, rising slowly from his seat. "I certainly would not recommend you remove Miss Weasley from your class, in fact I was pleased to see that you had planned to allow her to continue in your area of study should she choose to do so. I only sought to question why."

Snape laughed with bitter sarcasm and turned his back to the powerful wizard, walking slowly to other side of the room. Behind his half moon spectacles Dumbledore studied him with a steady gaze. "Furthermore," he continued carefully, "as to your summation of the girl…I think both of us are well aware that Miss. Weasley has long since ceased to be a child."

A startling bang rattled several picture frames as Snape's knee collided with the wall. A handful of disapproving past headmasters glared down at him, rudely awakened from their slumber.

"Of what do you accuse me, Dumbledore?" he spat vehemently.

For one horrible moment his mind flashed to the back of the empty corridor in which he had been the unintending witness to Potter and the Weasley girl's secret embrace, and to the strange variety of loathing he had experienced turning in his gut, a hatred that was much too dangerously akin to jealousy.

"Nothing," came Dumbledore's reply. "I only wish to exercise a necessary word of caution. When wounded one's heart has the unfortunate tendency to prove a most selfish mistress. She is not above invoking the cruelest sort of trickery, should it suit her means. Do not play her fool". Dumbledore shook his head. "The woman you love is gone, Severus. Your Dark Lord murdered her sixteen years ago. And despite whatever stubbornness insists you see traces of her clinging still to this life, they are not her. Lily Evans died long ago."

Snape turned; his chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his heavy robes. "I know."

Dumbledore smiled grievously. "And yet when the time comes that I am unable to protect the students of Hogwarts, I must once more have your promise that I can rely on you to do so, with complete selflessness, to the best of your ability."

"You have my word."

Albus Dumbledore searched the depths of Severus Snape's frozen gaze for a long while. Bearing into what truths it concealed, hoping to find buried beneath the endless reserves of hurt and pain one remaining flare of unspoiled love. After a while, he nodded. "As always Severus, you have my complete trust."

---

He knew something was wrong the moment he arrived in front the large gargoyle guarding the passage leading up to his office. He surveyed the terrible stony keeper with an accusatory glare, and slowly withdrew his wand. His fingertips tensed in preparation for whatever might meet him on the other side on the entrance.

The great stone figure swung aside. There was nothing.

Wand arm raised, Snape ascended the first few steps of the winding staircase quickly. A hundred different hexes lay anxiously on the tip of his tongue as he sought to prepare himself against every possible intruder. Weather it be a mutinous member of the staff, a member of the Order, or Potter, he would be ready, as ready as he could be.

Even if it should be against the Dark Lord himself, he thought dismally- just as three students collided into his path. The look on his face could almost be described as disappointment.

One of the students bit down on curse as a single gold coin, no larger then a galleon, fell from his hand and clinked sharply against the stone steps. Snape blinked down at it; with a sharp flick of his wand the coin appeared lying flat in the center of his open palm.

"Dumbledore's Army," he read aloud, wrapping his fingers into an angry fist and thrusting the coin deep into his pocket. "Let me see, your hero, you're almighty chosen one, has long abandoned your cause. He has deserted your ranks, and along with his chief officers, is no doubt fleeing the continent," he sneered "So tell me then, which of you three has risen up to take his place?"

He was met by contemptuous silence.

"But such modesty," Snape jeered sardonically, "very well then." His eyes burned across each of them, invading the shallow perimeters of their minds with perfect ease, coming across little resistance. Slowly his prodding gaze crawled to a stop at the figure furthest in the back, his pulse skipped triumphantly as a stray beam of light flashed off the heavy sword clasped between the intruders small hands.

"Oh, Miss Weasley," he breathed, her name barely discernible from under his hushed gasp. "Return to my office," he commanded. "Mr. Longbottom will escort Miss Lovegood back to the Ravenclaw tower."

"No," said Neville with forced bravado. "It's not her. It was my plan."

"And I will be sure to deal with you later," replied Snape without taking his eyes off the sword in Ginny's hands.

Neville stood firmly between them. "Professor, the three of us go together." He turned, "Ginny, let him keep the sword, and let's go."

Snape's black eyes trailed daringly up to Ginny's brown. Their gaze was level. She starred back at him, her mouth slightly open in uncertainty.

"Go," she mouthed suddenly.

Luna, whose wide eyes had been flickering between the two of them in whimsical fascination, suddenly took Neville's arm. "Let's go, Neville," she said airily.

He looked at her in shock. "But-"

"Ginny will be all right," she said insistently. "I've never walked the corridors at night while I was awake, I might loose my way. In any case, it would be lovely to have someone there to warn me should I start to wander off the edge of a moving staircase again."

Neville looked helplessly between Ginny and Luna, "I-"

"Please Neville," she whispered. "I think Ginny would like for us to go." Luna tugged gently on his arm. He looked back into her trusting blue eyes, defeated.

"A-all right." With one last concerned glance over his shoulder, he allowed Luna to pull him hesitantly past Snape, and down the staircase.

For a tense moment neither Snape nor Ginny moved to continue up the stairs. Then, as if jolted by the threat of silence, Snape took a step up and made a shuffling indication with his arm to indicate Ginny should do the same. When they reached the open office doors Ginny stopped at the threshold, waiting for him to continue ahead of her, which Snape found ironic seeing as only a few moments ago she had not the slightest qualm about entering without his permission.

"Enter, Miss Weasley," he said impatiently, and she did.

Before following her he felt the room for any lingering trace of treacherous enchantment, more out of habit then any true mistrust. In the end, his eyes were simply drawn once more to Ginny.

Pretty little Ginny Weasley, with her heart shaped head, tender shoulders, and of course that silky red hair hanging in limp curls just along her collar. His eyes darted suddenly to an object on his desk. An ornate picture frame, or more specifically, the kindly old man inside it. The painted wizard seemed to be dozing peacefully, however Snape had a sneaking paranoia about the not quite involuntary twitch of the past headmaster's left eye the moment the two of them entered the room.

His nostrils flared sharply while his eyes glazed over with forbidden intensity. Pressing his lips together into a quivering white line, he raised his wand discreetly, and the picture slid noiselessly off the desk, coming to rest face down on the floor.

He approached the girl, startling her by taking one of her delicately tapered wrists and stealing the heavy sword roughly from her grasp. She relinquished it willingly, and so their contact was brief, a second at most. Still, in that second he witnessed her skin's translucent powder softness. The feeling of which taunted boldly at his heels as he crossed quickly to the desk and set the legendary goblin crafted blade firmly upon the polished wooden surface.

"This was what you came for?" he asked in a low voice, trailing a long appreciative finger over the sheath's many encrustations.

"Yes," she said.

"And how exactly did you manage to break into my office?" It was a genuine question, something he had been wondering since the three of them had found him on the staircase.

She did not reply immediately. Although his back was turned to her he could sense her hesitation, the rebellion tightening in her stomach. And when she released the first little pocket of breath, he already knew her answer would be in no way subservient.

"This is Dumbledore's office."

He spun around to face her, his face paling with rage. "You haven't the slightest idea-"

"No I don't, so I guess I should just get out!" she responded cheekily, turning on her heel.

He pointed his wand at the door and it slammed shut, locking with a foreboding click. "Not today Miss Weasley."

There was a second when Ginny simply stood frozen, the first hints of real fear starting to show in her eyes. Then she bolted, reaching the huge wooden door with her own wand stretched out before her. "Aloham-"

"Expeliarmas!" Snape yelled, and Ginny's wand flew out of her hand across the room. She continued tugging frantically on the door handle as Snape slowly approached her from behind, stopping only when he was but a foot away. Her smell overtook him instantly. It was light and simple like that of, well, a lily.

"Turn around" he whispered. Biting down hard on her thick bottom lip she obeyed, facing him as brave as ever. His large shadow enveloped her completely.

Even at this distance he found her loveliness was incomparable, almost. He could think of only one that had been more beautiful to him. And what frustrated him endlessly was that even at this moment, he could not discern if this miracle in their likeness was meant as a blessing or a curse. Her closeness, that panged remembrance, it tormented him and yet he had not been able to be rid of her, not completely. No more then he could banish those precious memories of his lost flower. He had thought no substance on earth could ever reproduce that dark rush of crimson that glittered across her hair even in the dampest candlelight, and yet here in front of him the effect was mimicked so flawlessly. It gave him hope!

The night he first saw her in the great hall, his heart had soared. But as soon as he had looked up the fingering old hand of despair had reached up as well, clawing at the walls of his chest, and snatching his heart once more, twisting it's ragged nails further inside the dying muscle. That aching thing inside his chest, half the size it should be, always bleeding, that refused to stop it's beating, however faint. It would not go willingly, thumping in wild protest as it was stretched and torn, dragged down into the murkiest filth.

Brown eyes, he had seen. Brown eyes, not green.

Brown eyes now, that looked up at him, huge and terrified. Dark eyes that shook with accusations: failure, traitor, murderer, coward.

"Close your eyes." The command fell off his lips as a wretched plea. Her eyelids remained open. _"I could make you."_

She shivered, and her long lashed fluttered down.

Snape groaned. Trembling, he watched his hand rise up of it's own accord. He saw it pause hesitantly beneath her smooth chin, before disappearing behind her ear. His fingers grazed the soft skin of her neck for only a moment before twisting around a lock of her hair. The room buzzed around them in heady, wronged, confusion. He ran his thumb across the silky strand, tugging the separate hairs apart with the gentlest curiosity.

Something wet dripped onto his wrist, he pulled back his hand as if scalded.

"Let go of me," Ginny demanded shakily, her eyes still closed tight. A single tear had left a wet trail down her dove cheek.

Snape blinked sharply, with a shock he realized his other hand was gripping her upper arm with bone crushing ferocity. He immediately released her, taking several horrified steps backward.

"I'm…" he began, her eyes were open now and she was gazing at him terrified and hurt with an unimaginable disgust. "Leave. Please, leave," he begged.

He didn't have to ask twice, she fled from the room. Snape fell to his knees, a guttural sob rising in his chest. As Ginny raced down the staircase she would always remember the inhuman cry tearing away from those office doors as the most frightening thing she would ever hear.

---

"Ooh my goodness! Arthur come here and look at this, all that hair, all that red!" Mrs. Weasley ran a warm motherly hand over the small head of the new born baby cradled in her daughter's arms. "She's a Weasley all right!"

"Now Molly, we've been over this," scolded Arthur Weasley, a huge smile unfolding across his face as he wrapped an arm around his wife. "That little girl, that's a Potter."

"Oh hush!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, batting playfully at her husband.

"Ge'off me! Lemme see!" shouted a little boy with long dark hair, finally breaking out of the chokehold the older boy had roped him into and scampering up to the St. Mungo's hospital bed.

"Hey-!" cried his oppressor, his own hair turning an angry shade of red.

"It's ok, Teddy" said Harry with a laugh. "Let him go." He reached down to pick up his youngest son. Albus gazed down eagerly at the child, a look of pure wonder lighting up his smile. But a third figure remained stagnant on the other side of the room, a cross expression marring his otherwise handsome features. "What's wrong, don't you want to come see your baby sister?" asked Harry.

The boy wrinkled his nose in disgust, "She smells."

"James!"

"And she looks like a wrinkly pig."

"_James!"_

A flowery laugh cut across the five cross voices.

"It's all right," said Ginny gently. "He was the same way with Albus, he'll come around eventually."

"Of course he will," said Molly. "How could anyone resist this little cherub?" She sniffed and rubbed an embarrassed tear from her cheek. "Gin, she looks just like you!"

"Oh I don't know mum, she's got Harry's eyes."

Harry's heart warmed as he trailed his finger up his daughter's pudgy pink cheek, brushing back along the silky spot of vibrant red hair already atop her soft head. She cooed lovingly at his touch, her big green eyes widening with bright, trusting innocence.

"My mother's eyes." he said.

"Lily."

Harry glanced questioningly at his beautiful wife, who was perhaps more radiant now then he had ever seen her. She smiled up at him, her face still flushed with the rosy tint of childbirth. "Lily," she repeated, "Don't you think?"

Emotion clouded the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses. He wrapped his fingers inside Ginny's, squeezing tightly. "Yes," he nodded. "Lily Potter."

An odd sparkle flashed across little Lily's eyes. It was a strange look of intelligence, almost wisdom. Harry got the distinct impression that his daughter was trying to communicate. But not with him, with someone just past him. He glanced over his shoulder; there was nothing there but the blank wall. She cocked her head to side, and laughed suddenly, giggling and clapping her hands together.

Harry crinkled his forehead in confusion, _what is it Lily, what do you see? _

He blinked, and the look was gone.


End file.
